


the tundra isn't cold today

by anetherealmelody



Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Exile, Family, Fix-It, Found Family, Gaslighting, Gen, Heavy Angst, Help, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Self-Harm, Suicidal Thoughts, TommyInnit Angst (Video Blogging RPF), and super protective, phil gives too many hugs, phil is heartbroken, sbi + tubbo fix it, techno is furious, this exile arc is so depressing, wilbur is desperate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:34:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28067874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anetherealmelody/pseuds/anetherealmelody
Summary: Phil is horrified when he finds Tommy's exile journal. He decides enough is enough.Or: Phil, Techno, Wilbur, and Tubbo recover Tommy from exile because the exile arc is far too depressing.
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & Phil Watson, Dave | Technoblade & Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit & Phil Watson, Toby Smith | Tubbo & Phil Watson, TommyInnit & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & Phil Watson
Comments: 91
Kudos: 1885





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I actually finished writing something before posting it! Look at me go, lol! This will be short—8kish words, 4 chapters. This exile arc is LITERALLY so depressing, and i really just wanted a sleepy bois + tubbo end to it, yk? So here we are. That’s really all this is, hahah. Nothing special. Just a lot of angst and fluff and hugs.
> 
> I really hope you enjoy! 
> 
> tw // implied gaslighting, mental and emotional manipulation

Phil’s hands are shaking.

“What is it?” Tubbo whispers, standing on his tiptoes, trying to peek over his shoulder.

“Nothing,” Phil returns. He snaps the journal shut and tucks it in his pocket. “We can’t be seen here. Come on.”

“You really think Dream would be angry?” Tubbo asks. “If he knew we’d been here, I mean?”

“I don’t know,” Phil says absently. He bows his head as he steps into the portal. “Let’s not find out.”

“All right,” Tubbo says, and follows without hesitation. 

Tommy is nowhere in sight.

///

“Wilbur,” Phil says. 

“Haven’t gone by that name in quite awhile, mate, but hullo.”

“ _Wilbur_ ,” Phil repeats—harsh, imploring.

Wilbur stops fiddling with his blue to look up, and, upon seeing the look on Phil’s face, stands abruptly. His chair topples over unnoticed behind him. “What is it?” he asks gravely. “What’s happened?”

“You need to read this,” Phil says, and slides the journal across the table.

It stops in front of Wilbur. He stares down at it. “Is this How to Sex’s final installment?” he asks, hesitantly picking it up.

Phil does not answer, because Wilbur is not looking for an answer. He is looking for a distraction. 

Phil’s hands shake.

“Where’s Tubbo?” Wilbur mutters, and turns the book over in his hands. Its cover is torn and ripped like it’s been thrown into and out of a couple of volcanoes, like it’s been let into and forced out of a couple of countries. 

Phil swallows. “Asleep,” he says.

With sudden desperation, Wilbur clutches the book to his chest. He looks up at Phil—eyes sharp, omniscient. “You’re leaving tomorrow,” he accuses.

“Not after this,” Phil mumbles, gesturing to the journal. “Just read it, will you?”

“You’re leaving tomorrow,” Wilbur repeats. “Fundy told me. You only came back for Tubbo’s birthday.”

Phil looks at the ground.

“Of course,” Wilbur says, laughing bitterly, bitingly. “The mighty _Technoblade_ needs you. How can you resist?”

“He’s by himself, Wilbur,” Phil says quietly. “He needed company.”

“Well,” Wilbur sneers. “He isn’t the only one.”

Phil drags a hand down his face. “Please, Wil. Don’t take it personally. I had to spend time with—”

“Tubbo?” Wilbur cuts in. “You disappear for months, and come back for _one day_. One _day_ , Phil.For Tubbo. And you—you give me _this?”_ He holds up the journal, glaring at it like it’s the worst, most disgusting, most horrific thing in the universe. Maybe it is. “What the hell am I supposed to do with this?”

“Wil, I—I’m sorry. Really. Just…read it, okay? You’ll understand. I won’t be going anywhere anytime soon.”

Just like that, Wilbur’s bravado snaps away. He stares at the journal. “No?”

“No,” Phil says. “Not after reading it.”

“Is it so very bad?” he whispers.

“Tubbo can’t read it,” Phil says, and that’s answer enough.

Wilbur bites his lip. 

“We’ve got to fix this,” Phil whispers.

Wilbur braces himself, sits down carefully, and opens the journal.

Phil closes his eyes. 

///

_day 1_

This is so stupid. LIterally pRobably the most stupid thing I’ve ever had to do ever. I don’t even know why he’s making me do this. But he said I have to and if I don’t he’ll kill me which doesn’t even make sense because then I would just re-spawn in L’Manberg, and that’s what I want to do, so I think he’s an idiot. But I think he’s probably talking about _perma-killing_ me, which would suck.

This is already the third one of these I’ve had to do. I did one but he said it had too many swears so he threw it out and made me redo it. He said he is “reforming” me. I think he’s an idiot. I hope he reads this so he finds out too. The second one of these I did and I only used one swear as aN example of the words that I cannot use but apparently I’m not allowed to do that either. 

This is all stupid. It all sucks. Especially Dream. He sucks the most. He’s an idiot. I hate him. 

I hate Tubbo, too. I don’t know why he exiled me. I’m pis—furious, I mean. Angry. 

…I mean, I don’t really hate Tubbo. Obviously. I just don’t get it. We’re supposed to be best friends.

At least Wilbur is here. I think he’s leaving tomorrow, though. Dream doesn’t want anyone around too long. 

Stupid bastard.

(Ha. I wrote that so small he’ll never find it.)

So sincerely wow so incredibly sincerely I mean all of these words,

BIG T

///

_day 2_

Y’know when I came here it was hot and it’s still hot today. He’s making me write in this again. I don’t know why. It’s so pointless. I don’t even know what to write about except how much I hate him. He’s awful. He always tries to make me take off my armor. I tell him no of course so then he tells me if I don’t that he’ll kill me. So then I have to. It’s quickly becoming his favorite quote. Isn’t there some kind of punishment for murder in the world?? What kind of justice is this?? 

Then again, he’s the one that gives all the punishments. I don’t think he’d punish himself. He’s an idiot, but he’s not that kind of idiot.

Wilbur left this morning. I kept thinking he was coming back because the portal kept opening, but it was just Dream. Dream telling me to wake up. Dream telling me to take off my armor. Dream telling me telling me to eat. That part was nice of him, actually—the eating part. He even cooked my chicken for me. I don’t know how to season it like Tubbo does. I just use salt and I think I undercook it. But Dream made it really good. Almost like Tubbo. Dream is an idiot, but he’s not an idiot at cooking.

We actually talked for a bit too, which was nice. Wilbur is gone, so it’s just me now, but Dream keeps me company. It sucks—I hate him—but I suppose seeing him once in awhile is better than being alone all day.

I have a log. It’s a nice log. I keep an apple on top of it. Me and Tubbo used to try to balance apples on logs. I always won. It’s not really the same by yourself, though. You know?

Anyway. This is stupid, and I still hate it. I also hate everyone reading this and Dream and everyone who doesn’t read this.

Incredible T

///

_day 4_

I thought Wilbur was going to come back, but I guess not. He’s probably just busy. He’s a ghost now, you know, so he’s got a lot on his mind. Probably.

Dream doesn’t think so. Dream thinks that…well.

Who cares what Dream thinks, anyway?

I think _I_ would be able to tell if Wilbur actually just didn’t want to see me. Me and Wilbur are _friends_. I think he likes talking to me. Dream said that he probably wanted a break from hanging out with me, but I don’t think so. Wilbur is honest. He would just tell me to my face.

I think.

Anyway, I forgot to write in here yesterday and Dream got mad. So now he says I have to write everything I did today:

I woke up. I didn’t eat breakfast because I wasn’t very hungry. Right when I was about to check the portal for Wilbur, Dream came. He burned my armor.We talked for a little while. You know, he actually said sorry about that duel from awhile back. The one for L’Manberg—the first one. He said he didn’t want to hurt me. I thought that was pretty nice of him actually.

Now I’m writing in here. That’s all.

Goodbye,

Large T

///

_day 5_

Today was…weird. I kept _seeing_ things. Like…not things, actually. Seeing… _Tubbo_. I know I’m not crazy, it was just so strange. I thought he was real, but Dream said he wasn’t, and…well. Dream knows that kind of stuff, you know? He’s really smart.

We’ve been hanging out a lot. He actually stayed all night with me last night because it was cold. He didn’t let me keep my armor, obViously—which I kind of understand…I mean, it _is_ safer when I don’t have it on—but he gave me a wool blanket he had in his ender chest. It was pretty cool, actually. 

Dream said in our talk that he thinks people are just trying to get some space from me. I understand. I can be a lot to handle, probably. I don’t know. I just kind of miss everyone a lot. Especially Tubbo. Dream said that Tubbo hasn’t said anything about missing me, but. Well. I hope he misses me. Maybe he doesn’t. I don’t know.

Dream left a few minutes ago, but he said that I should only write until the moon came out, and then try to go to bed. The moon just came out. I’ve been watching super carefully. Now I’ll try. 

Tommy

///

_day 6_

I am a GENIUS. I came up with a PLAN. It is the best plan ever. 

Dream said that maybe I should actually try not giving people space. Just to see if they still care about me, you know? Which I think is a great idea. He said that I could have a party! Like, an ACTUAL party! A beach party! I’m so excited!

I’m inviting everyone. I already wrote invitations and everything. Dream said he’ll give them all to Wilbur and Tubbo to hand out. It’s going to happen tomorrow, so I hope everything gets done in time.

POG,

PogT

///

_day 8_

Yesterday Dream said I didn’t have to write in my journal. I was so glad. I didn’t really feel like writing. I don’t feel like it now, either, but I probably should since Dream was so nice to let me not write in it yesterday.

Yesterday was awful. Wilbur and Tubbo _threw away_ the invitations. They must have. Because I _trust_ Dream—I _know_ he wouldn’t lie to me—and he said that he gave them the invitations. He promised.

But no one came. 

I’m not even mad. I’m just…

Alone.

Alone except for Dream. Dream’s my friend now, you know. He was the only one at my party. We actually had a lot of fun together. I’m really grateful that he did. I know he’s super busy, so that was pretty cool of him. 

It just sucked that no one else came. 

I don’t really know what I’m doing anymore. I keep forgetting to eat, and I can’t sleep at night. The neighboring villaGe is really loud. It keeps me up. 

Other stuff keeps me up, too.

Okay, that’s all.

T

///

_day 11_

Dream let me keep my armor today.

I feel like he’s the only one who cares.

Tommy

///

Wilbur throws the book against the nearest wall and whirls to face him. “What the _hell?”_ he shouts. 

“You’ll wake Tubbo,” Phil chides, but his heart is an ocean away.

“What the _hell_ was that?” Wilbur yells, dragging his hands through his hair. “What _was_ that?”

“How far did you get?” Phil asks. 

“Like…nine, I think, but _what the_ —”

“You aren’t even halfway through,” Phil says. He retrieves the journal and sets it on the table—sitting between them like a looming nightmare. “You haven’t even reached the bad parts.”

“I’m not finishing it,” Wilbur says.

“Wil—”

“No chance,” he says firmly. He snatches his an axe from where it hangs on his wall. “We’re going _now_.”

“No,” Phil says. “We won’t be able to do it alone.”

Wilbur narrows his eyes. 

///

“Tubbo,” Phil whispers, shaking his shoulder gently. “Tubbo. Wake up.”

“Huh?” Tubbo says groggily. He sits up, rubbing his eyes with a fist. “What is it?”

“We’ve got to go,” Phil murmurs. “Come on.”

He furrows his eyebrows and blinks in the lack of light. “What time is it?” he asks, and stands up on shaky legs.

“Really late,” Phil says. “Or really early. Grab your cloak, your boots, and your sword.”

“Why?” Tubbo asks.

“I don’t have time to explain now,” Phil says. “I’ll do it on the way, all right?”

“Okay,” Tubbo says slowly, warily. 

“Wil’s out front. I’ll wait outside, yeah? Oh, bring your armor, too.”

“What’s going on?”

Phil sighs, hand on the door knob. “You’ll see,” he says.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your response to the last chapter! I really hope that you like this one! <33
> 
> tw // implied self harm

They wear all black to disguise in the night. Wilbur pulls the anchor up and slips into the boat; Phil and Tubbo follow. Phil sets a lantern down. Wilbur grips the journal with white knuckles.

“That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” Tubbo asks after a couple hours of silence. 

At Phil’s questioning look, Tubbo nods to the journal. 

Phil purses his lips.

“Can I read it?” Tubbo asks.

Wilbur shuts his eyes and holds the book tighter. “I don’t like this, Phil,” he says.

“No, Tubbo,” Phil mutters, turning his eyes to the floor. “Not tonight.”

///

“I feel like I’m being kidnapped,” Tubbo says. 

The boat bounces along the bleary sea.

“I saw a book about the history of kidnapping, you know,” Tubbo continues, unaware or uncaring of the other’s distaste for present conversation. “I didn’t read it, obviously. I can’t really…well. You know. But, anyway, it looked pretty interesting. From the cover picture, at least. It was of—”

Wilbur stands so abruptly that the boat jolts to one side. Once it’s steadied, he whirls on Phil. “This is ridiculous,” he snaps. “We can’t afford to take a _detour_.”

“We don’t have a choice,” Phil says.

“We absolutely have a choice!” Wilbur shouts, laughing incredulously. “We don’t owe him anything!”

“He’s your brother, Wilbur. He’ll be happy to see you.”

Tubbo blinks owlishly. “Are you talking about Tommy?”

“Sit down, Wil,” Phil says. “You’re shaking us.”

Scowling, Wilbur does. 

Phil turns to Tubbo. “No,” he answers. “We’re talking about Technoblade.”

Tubbo blanches. “Technoblade?” he whispers. 

“See!” Wilbur exclaims, vindicated. “He thinks it’s an awful idea, too.”

“He didn’t say that,” Phil says. 

Tubbo slinks back on his bench. “I—I don’t—I—” he stammers.

“There’s no reason why we need him, Phil,” Wilbur insists. “We’ll just be wasting time.”

Phil takes a deep breath. “I know you’re angry, Wil, but—”

“I’m not angry!” he shouts. “I’m _terrified!”_

“Me too,” Tubbo whispers.

“No, no,” Wilbur says, ripping his hands through his hair. “It's not the same. I’m not terrified of Technoblade. I’m—I…Tommy is _alone!_ We _left_ him there, and now Dream is…”

“Dream is what?” Tubbo asks, sitting up. “What’s going on? Where’s Tommy?”

“Where you sent him,” Wilbur says bitterly.

“Enough,” Phil says. “I know you don’t want to see him, Wil, but we really don’t have a choice. He can beat Dream.”

“So can you!” Wilbur says, exasperated. 

“No,” Phil mutters. “When Techno is worried, he fights better. When I’m worried…” He bows his head. “I’ll be distracted.”

The lantern flickers out—dying, engulfing them in darkness. 

“Is Tommy okay?” Tubbo whispers, voice shaking. 

Phil grabs his hand, but does not answer.

///

Wilbur lags behind he and Tubbo. None of them speak. None of them make move to.

The walk isn’t far—two miles at most. Despite the all-consuming darkness, they make it without issue. 

Tubbo swallows when he sees Techno’s house. He bites his lip and glances back at Wilbur like he’d prefer to be as far away as possible. 

When he meets Phil’s worried gaze, though, he stiffens his spine and lifts his chin. 

“If it gets us to Tommy,” he mutters, bracing himself.

Phil nods. The porch-light is off. They climb the steps.

“C’mon, Wil,” Phil says. 

From the snow at the bottom of the steps, Wilbur scowls. “We can do it without him,” he says. 

The door whips open. Tubbo scrambles down the steps, terrified. Wilbur narrows his eyes, suspicious. Phil turns slowly, unsurprised.

Techno emerges, looking for all the world like he’d been expecting this visit for awhile. 

Phil sighs.

Techno raises his eyebrows. “Do what without me?”

///

“How enthralling,” Techno deadpans. 

“Cut the act,” Wilbur snaps, glaring. “No one likes it.”

“What act?" Techno drawls. "I’m being completely genuine.”

“You think us coming to find you at the crack of dawn is _enthralling?”_

“I’m sorry. Which adjective would you prefer?”

“Techno,” Phil says, sighing. “Please listen. We wouldn’t have come here if it wasn’t important.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t have? So, what, you just come when you need my help?”

“Yes,” Wilbur says.

Phil drags a hand down his face. “You know that’s not what I—”

“This is getting old real quick, Phil,” Techno says. The words sound rehearsed. “I don’t need your help anymore than I need Wilbur’s or Tommy’s.”

“Selfish bastard,” Wilbur mutters.

Techno turns to him, pursing his lips, narrowing his eyes. 

Tubbo slinks further into the corner.

“Maybe not,” Phil says quickly. He stands to his hand on Techno’s shoulder. Techno relaxes the slightest bit under his touch. “But you don’t need our help, anyway. Tommy does.”

Techno glares at Wilbur for a moment longer before relenting and turning to Phil with a scowl. This is an act, too, though—Phil can tell. There is worry in Techno’s eyes. 

“What’s he done now?” Techno asks. 

///

_day 12_

Dream and I went into the Nether today. It was surprisingly fun. He had an idea that I thought was pretty good. When I first got here we built a bridge so that people could visit me. He thought it would be good payback and revenge for us to break the bridge. It was really cathartic—seeing all the blocks fall into the lava. I’m so glad he thought of it. 

That’ll teach them, too, you know? Now they have to work extra hard to visit me. Serves them right.

It was really hot in the Nether. The lava wasn’t very far off, you know. I was pretty close to it, and it looked kind of pretty. Actually, at one point, I was thinking—I thought—I wondered—

Well, I guess it doesn’t really matter what I wondered. Nothing really matters anymore. Especially not stuff I do and say and think and wonder. It’s fine, though. 

It’s fine.

///

_day 16_

I keep forgetting to write in here. Dream found out. He got pretty mad. He made me throw out all my armor _and_ all my tools, which was bad because I was a little hungry. But he was super thoughtful and made me dinner. Besides, it’s dangerous for me to have tools, anyway. I’m surprised he doesn’t take them more often. He’s a really smart guy, you know?

He also let me keep all my food. I thought he was going to throw it all out again like he did the other day, but he didn’t. It was so nice of him.

We went back to the Nether again. It’s one of his favorite spots to go. He always suggests we go there. Today we sat on the edge of our bridge. Our feet were dangling over the lava. He suggested we do that, too—he likes being close to the lava. I like it too. I really like it. Sometimes I wish I could be even closer. 

///

_day 17_

Dream left me a note that says that he’s going to be gone for the next couple days. But to keep me company, he left me some books that he’s taken notes in and he also left me the portal key. I’m so happy about that. I get to go into the Nether all by myself. 

I might not do it, since I’d rather go with him than alone. We’ll see. I’ll write it in here, because he said if I don’t that he’ll take away the portal. I really don’t want him to do that. It’s okay, though—he’s only saying that because he wants to know what I do everyday. He told me that’s why I should write in here. I get it. 

Tommy 

///

_day 18_

I went into the Nether because I got really bored without Dream. I miss him a lot. He’s my best friend, I think. He would never betray me. Inside the books were a bunch of notes written to me to keep me entertained. I’ve been reading them all day. It was awesome.

But when I was done, I went into the Nether. All I did was sit today, and stare into the lava. 

It’s really pretty. 

I just…sometimes I just want to jump in, you know? It wouldn’t hurt that bad. Or for that long. It’d hurt less than everything hurts right now.

///

_day 19_

I decided not to. At least today and yesterday I decided not to. I don’t want Dream to be angry with me. He’d be disappointed if I was gone when he came back. 

///

Tubbo taps Phil’s shoulder lightly. 

Phil turns to him, eyebrows raised. 

“Can I read it?” Tubbo whispers.

Phil looks across the table to where Techno sits reading it. His knuckles are white around the sides of the book. His face if flushed with fury, but otherwise expressionless—deadly. His eyes are on fire. His chest heaves with barely contained violence.

Wilbur stands over Techno’s shoulder, reading despite his earlier vow not to. He doesn’t look much better. His hands are stuck in his hair. His eyes are wide with horror. His face is blanched, pale. His fingers are shaking. 

Phil turns back to Tubbo. 

“No,” he says. “You don’t want to.”

///

_day 20_

Dream is BACK! I’m so happy! He came back earlier than he said he was going to! He said he wanted to surprise me! It is such a good surprise. 

He read through my journal and he said that one of my entries wasn’t long enough, so he burned my armor, but he let me keep my tools! And he made me more chicken! It’s so much better than any chicken I’ve ever had before. He’s such a good cook. The seasonings are so good. 

Now we’re going to hang out for awhile. I’m really excited. His favorite spot to hang out is where we sit above the lava. I think we’re going to go there today. That will be fun. I like that spot a lot, too.

Tommy

///

_day 22_

Dream didn’t tell me that he was going to be gone. I mean, I know he’s going to come back, I just…don’t know when. It’s weird. I just miss him.

I found a dagger a couple hours ago, and I used it to paint on my skin. I read that phrase in a book once. It’s kind of funny, right? Ha. Painting with a knife. 

It was a pretty painting, to be fair. 

I’m feeling a little better now. I covered both my arms up, don’t worry. Dream won’t see. I know he’d be so worried. He cares a lot about me. But, then again, he’d probably feel fine with it if I told him that it helped me feel better—helped me feel at all. He just really cares about my happiness, you know? It’s so cool to have someone like that.

Anyways. I hope he comes back soon.

///

Techno rises abruptly. He walks straight for the fireplace, journal in hand. 

“Techno—” Phil starts.

Wilbur cuts him off bodily, putting himself directly en route. 

“Get out of my way,” Techno hisses.

“Don’t,” Wilbur says, nodding to the book. “Don’t do it.”

“I said, _get_ _out,_ ” Techno says, voice dangerously low. “Before I _make_ you.”

Phil stands, too. “Techno—”

Techno whirls. His eyes are nearly red with fury. The book flies out of his hands, slides across the room, and slams into the foot of a counter. Techno pays it no attention. “What, Phil? _What?_ What can you _possibly_ have to say?”

Phil opens his mouth. He snaps it shut.

He doesn’t know.

Techno scoffs. “Unsurprising,” he mutters.

He drops the book—on the floor, not in the fire—and yanks his sword from where it hangs on the wall. 

Without another word, he walks out the door.

Phil turns to Wilbur, who’s staring at the journal on the floor, still unable to comprehend its contents. Tubbo watches him with wide eyes. 

Phil shuts his eyes. He takes a deep breath.

“Come on,” he says, and waves them toward the door. “He won’t wait for us.”

///

“There’s something really bad in that book, isn’t there?” Tubbo whispers.

The snow blankets the earth, and Techno’s coat blends in, but Phil can barely make him out in the distance—head down, focused. Wilbur walks beside he and Tubbo, hands stuffed into his pockets, eyes unseeing. 

Phil brushes snow off of his sleeve. The crunch underfoot makes him flinch. “Yes,” he says. “But it’s…it isn’t Tommy.”

Tubbo furrows his eyebrows. “Who’s writing it, then?”

“Well, it—Tommy _is_ writing it, but it’s…he’s…forgotten some things.”

“What does that mean?” Tubbo asks. 

“He thinks we—well, he thinks…he’s just confused.”

“I’m confused, too,” Tubbo says. 

Phil swallows. His throat is dry. “We’ll figure it out,” he whispers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading! Comments make my day, so I'd love if you let me know what you thought! Either way, thank you!! :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the feedback last chapter! Hope you like this one! :D
> 
> tw // brief mentions of implied self harm

_day 24_

I don’t like it here. I don’t really want to be here anymore.

Not _here_ meaning this area. Here meaning…here meaning _anywhere_.

I’m tired. And alone. And sorry, if anyone is listening. Which they aren’t, I know. I’m not worth listening to, anyway. I’m annoying.

The lava is pretty. So are the paintings on my skin. I don’t have real paint, you know? But I have a lot of blood.

Maybe someday I’ll run out. That’s okay. That’d be good. I’m excited.

///

“He’s lost,” Phil mutters. 

“Techno?” Tubbo asks, and shivers. 

“Yeah,” Phil says. He pulls his coat off and wraps it around his shoulders. “Wilbur?”

Wilbur blinks up at him.

“Watch Tubbo, yeah? I’m gonna catch up with Techno.”

Wilbur’s eyes are blank. 

After a moment of silence, Tubbo says, “I’ll watch Wilbur.”

Phil nods.

///

“You’re going the wrong way,” Phil calls.

Techno freezes.

“It’s not far. C’mon.”

Techno slowly turns to face him. His face is flushed with angry exertion. His eyes are narrowed in fury. His stance is stiff; his sword is drawn, ready. “How do you know?” he demands.

“How do you think I got the journal?”

Techno whips his sword up, pointing it directly at Phil’s chest. It doesn’t touch him, but it isn’t far off. Phil doesn’t even flinch. 

A special kind of indignation shrouds Techno’s features. It’s different than the anger that led him to release the withers or to assist Wilbur in blowing up L’Manberg. He _trembles_ , almost, in his fury—so consumingly livid that his reaction is physical.

“You knew,” Techno snarls. “You _knew,_ and you didn’t _care_.”

Phil shakes his head. “He’s my son, Techno. I care more than anyone in the world.”

“You—you _left_ him there! You could’ve gotten him out, but you—you _left_ him! You left him with that _monster—_ ”

“I should’ve seen it sooner,” Phil whispers. “I thought it’d be good for him—to learn. You and Wil have been through similar. I just…” He bows his head. “I didn’t see it soon enough.”

“No,” Techno snaps. “You didn’t. Dream is—Dream is _horrible_. You _left_ Tommy with him. And now—now—now Tommy is—”

His voice cracks, so he turns away—always strong, always emotionless, always indifferent. He cannot allow weakness to pervade his apathy, his facade.

Phil sets his hand on Techno’s shoulder. “We’ll get to him in time,” he says. “He’ll be okay. Nothing will happen to him.”

Without warning, Techno turns into his embrace. He collapses into sobs—burying his face in Phil’s shoulder, gripping Phil like he’s a shield from the world, like he’s all that’s real, like he’s all that’s left to hold onto. 

“Enough has—enough has already happened,” Techno whispers wetly. “He’s _16._ He shouldn’t be writing about—about paint and, and lava, and colors, and _blood_ —”

Phil pushes Techno’s head into his shoulder, holding him tightly. “He’ll be okay,” he whispers, trying to convince himself.

“What if he’s not?” Techno manages. “What if—what if we’re too late? What will I—what will anyone do without him?”

Phil closes his eyes. 

“He’s _everything_ , Phil,” Techno whispers. 

Water slips down Phil’s cheeks.

It’s sweat. The tundra is hot.

///

When they reconvene, Tubbo is unconscious. 

“What happened?” Phil demands, jogging the last few steps to reach them. 

Wilbur shivers—he’d given his coat to Tubbo. Without second thought, Techno does the same—leaning down and spreading it over Tubbo’s chest. “I was distracted,” Wilbur mumbles, flushing.

“Distracted?” Phil echoes, incredulous.

Wilbur scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he says. “I couldn’t…uh. Focus.”

Phil blinks at him. “ _What?”_

“What do you think?” Techno mutters. 

Wilbur glances at the outline of the book poking out from Phil’s coat. 

Phil understands.

He sighs, crouching at Tubbo’s side. “He just passed out?”

“He was cold, I think. I—sorry. I’m an idiot.”

“Yeah, well,” Phil says, hauling Tubbo into a sitting position. “Can’t say I blame you.”

Tubbo’s breaths are shallow. His fingers are purpling. His eyelids are fluttering helplessly, desperately. His skin is frozen. 

“I don’t know why you brought him,” Techno says. 

“He deserved to know where we’d all disappeared to,” Phil says.

“He doesn’t know, though, does he?” Techno asks pointedly. “You haven’t told him anything.”

“It’s my fault,” Wilbur whispers. He tugs his beanie off and secures it on Tubbo’s head. “I shouldn’t have zoned out.”

“You’ll have to take him back,” Phil says. “Tech and I have to go on.”

“I figured,” Wilbur says, nodding shortly. “It’s all right. I’ll take him back to your place. I know the way well enough.”

Phil looks at him carefully. “Are you sure you can hold him?” he asks. 

“He won’t be out much longer, hopefully,” Wilbur says. “We’ll manage.”

“Good. Thanks.”

Wilbur nods. 

For a long moment, the three of them stare at each other. The same sentiments are reflected on all of their features—desperation, fury, fear.

Wilbur swallows. “Be safe,” he says. 

“You as well, of course,” Phil says.

Another moment passes.

Wilbur crushes him into a hug. 

“Bring him back,” Wilbur whispers, squeezing as tight as Techno had. “Please. _Please_. Just—just bring him back.”

“We will,” Phil says.

It’s a promise.

///

It takes them four hours to leave the tundra and another two to reach the beach. 

They travel in near silence. 

When the shore comes into view, though, Techno pauses. 

“Right,” he says quietly, dangerously, eyes never leaving the distance. “Here’s the plan.”

///

They see Tommy before they hear him, and that tells them all they need to know. 

He’s crumpled in the fetal position on a patch of dirt. His chest stutters in its rise. His clothes are utterly destroyed. He is covered in dirt and dried blood and bruises and ash.

It doesn’t matter. Phil is light-headed with relief. 

Techno is, too—Phil can tell. He braces himself with a hand on a tree and mouths something not meant for mortal ears. His gaze does not once stray from his brother. 

Techno’s plans end up being unnecessary. Dream is not here and Tommy is unconscious, so they break from the tree-line with bated breath, gently pick him up, and steal away. 

He is nearly weightless in Phil’s arms. His hair has thinned. His skin is red and gray and purple and blue. 

It doesn’t matter. Phil is light-headed with relief. 

Tommy is _alive_.

///

After four hours of travel, he has still not woken up. Techno offers to carry him. Phil complies easily—his muscles are tight with exertion—and shifts him into Techno’s arms. 

Half an hour later, when Phil’s arms have somewhat recovered, he offers to take him back. Techno has never liked doing more than he has to, after all—Phil is certain he’ll be grateful.

Instead, Techno clutches Tommy tighter to his chest. “It’s fine,” he mutters. “I’ve got him.”

He keeps his gaze straight forward, not meeting Phil’s eyes. There is water on his cheeks.

Sweat, obviously. The tundra is hot.

///

They see Wilbur pacing through the frosted window. They see the moment that he sees them—stopping, stiffening, sprinting. He whips the door open with unparalleled violence. They ascend the stairs carefully. 

“You got him,” Wilbur whispers. 

“Of course we did,” Techno mutters, pushing past him and through the door. “Did you really think we wouldn’t?”

Wilbur stares after him, eyes wide, posture infinitely relieved. “No,” he murmurs—almost to himself. “I knew you would.”

///

Wilbur’s fussing irritates Techno. “We don’t need seventeen blankets,” he whisper-snaps. “He’s going to suffocate.”

Wilbur completely ignores him. He spins around the room in frantic search of something he’ll never find. It’s all nervous energy, after all. They are all waiting for the same thing.

Phil stands. He places a hand on Wilbur’s shoulder. Wilbur glances at him with wide, desperate eyes. 

“This room needs some light, yeah? Let’s go get some candles. We have them in the storage room.”

Wilbur nods twelve too many times to ever pass as relaxed. “Sounds good. Sounds great. Great. Yes. Perfect.”

In Phil’s peripheral, Techno rolls his eyes. He’s clutching Tommy’s hand like a lifeline, though, so his indifferent act is ruined.

///

When the sun sets and Wilbur’s energy has run out, he slumps at the side of the bed. Phil sits at the foot. Techno sits on the floor in the far corner of the room. 

The silence is light with relief, but heavy with anticipation—they are not sure what to expect. They are scared, though none of them say as much. 

They admit it, he supposes, in different ways. How Techno flinches when Tommy’s breath stutters. How Wilbur brushes stringy hair from Tommy’s eyes, glares at the strands that pull easily away, fists his hand around them, and tucks them into the pocket of his shirt. How Phil wipes his clammy hands over and over on Tommy’s sheets.

At some point, ripples of moonlight slant through the windows, and Phil stands to get them water and a meal. None of them are hungry, but they cannot neglect their own health—how will they possibly be able to help Tommy?

He is wary of disturbing the false peace they have so carefully manufactured, so he does not speak when he slips out the front door.

When he’s climbing back up the porch stairs—hands full of well water and dried fruit—he glimpses something through the window. He pauses, craning his neck to see the change. 

Wilbur and Techno stand in the middle of the room, locked in a hug. Wilbur’s face is buried in Techno’s shoulder. His mouth moves, forming words that are silent to Phil’s ears. Techno’s posture is relaxed, relieved, trusting. 

Despite the night, Phil sinks down onto the porch step.

Despite the cold, Phil is warm.

The tundra is hot, after all.

///

Phil holds up a slice of dried mango. He raises an eyebrow in question.

Wilbur takes it, smiling gratefully. Techno’s head rests on his shoulder—they’re sat on the floor for some ridiculous reason; Techno had long fallen asleep—so he is sure to make his movements subtle. 

“Did you make up, then?” Phil whispers, because he cannot help himself.

Wilbur glances at Techno without turning his head. “Yeah,” he says softly. He looks back up at Phil with the same eyes Phil had fallen in love with all those years ago, when Wilbur had showed up on his doorstep with a question in his eyes and a song on his tongue. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“That we fought earlier. Me and you, I mean.” He twists his fingers together. “I was…jealous, I guess. Maybe bitter. I don’t know. You were just out here spending so much time with him, and I—well. I thought you were avoiding me. Because of…because of what I did to L’Manberg. I thought you were angry.”

“I was, at first,” Phil says honestly. “Because you knew how much it meant to Tommy. But so did Techno. I was angry with him, too.”

Wilbur swallows, dropping his gaze to his lap. 

“I wasn’t avoiding you,” Phil promises. “Wilbur. Look at me.”

Wilbur does. 

“I was _not_ avoiding you. You’re one of my three favorite people to hang out with.”

Wilbur laughs softly. His posture eases a little. 

“Understand?” Phil asks.

“Yeah.”

“The reason I came out here with him was because it’s _Techno._ If we gave him the chance, he’d run and never look back. I couldn’t…I couldn’t risk him just stewing with his thoughts.” Phil looks down, too, sighing. “That doesn’t excuse my leaving you, of course. It was short-sighted. I was just scared for him, and when I first left I knew that you had Tommy. Techno had _no one_ , so I…”

“That makes sense,” Wilbur whispers, glancing at Techno again. “I’m glad he stayed.”

“Me too,” Phil says.

Wilbur looks back up at him, eyes sparkling faintly. “Now we’ve just got to get him back home.”

“Oh, that’ll be a fun conversation,” Phil says, rolling his eyes. 

Wilbur smiles.

///

Tubbo stumbles down the ladder, rubbing his eyes with a bleary fist. 

All three of them nearly have a heart attack. Somehow, they’d managed to collectively forget that there were _two_ unconscious children in the house.

Wilbur is the first to rise—guilt or love or something in between compelling him to Tubbo’s side. “Hey,” he murmurs. “You’re awake. How are you feeling?”

Tubbo blinks up at him, frowning a little in confusion. Before he can open his mouth, though, he freezes. 

All the color drains from his face. 

“He’s all right,” Phil says, standing, moving to his side. “Don’t worry.”

“Don’t—don’t _worry?_ It’s—he’s—oh, _Ender_.”

Tubbo shoves past Wilbur and rushes to the bed’s edge. None of them raise protest—they all know that Tubbo would never do anything like hurting him.

“Tommy,” he whispers. “Oh, Ender, _Tommy_. I’m so—oh, I’m so _sorry._ I’m so—Tommy—you’re _here._ Oh, thank Ender. Thank you, thank you, thank—”

He buries his face in the side of Tommy’s pillow, so the rest of his words are unintelligible. He takes Tommy’s hands in both of his own. 

He does not stop talking for a long, long time. He does not move for even longer.

///

“He’s been eating, right?” Tubbo asks. 

“Yes,” Phil says, nodding. “He’s been nearly conscious a couple of times. Enough to give him some liquids—soup, the like.”

“He’s been drinking, right?”

“Yes,” Phil says. “Small amounts, but enough.”

“He’s been cleaned?”

“Yes,” Phil says. “We washed him before we put him in bed. All the dirt and sand and blo…yeah. All of it.”

“He’s been warm enough?” Tubbo asks. 

Techno groans. “You’re worse than Wilbur.”

Phil smiles softly, because underneath the irritation, he knows Techno is grateful beyond reason that Tommy has a friend that cares about him that much.

///

After many hours, Tubbo’s eyelids start to droop.

“You’re recovering, too,” Phil says. “You should go to sleep.”

“Don’t—don’t want to,” Tubbo says, yawning. 

Wilbur ruffles his hair. “Come on. You’re tired. We’ll all be here in the morning.”

Tubbo glances at Tommy and twists his lips to one side, considering. “Fine,” he says, nodding, and promptly climbs up into the bed. He grabs Tommy’s hand and curls into a ball at his side, tucking his face into the top of Tommy’s shoulder. He closes his eyes, a small smile on his face.

“I don’t know why you looked surprised, Wilbur,” Techno says. “That was predictable.”

“I’m always unpredictable,” Tubbo says sleepily.

“Uh huh,” Techno says. 

Phil smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to hear what you thought if you have a minute! <3


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your feedback last chapter! Sorry this update took a bit longer!
> 
> Hope you enjoy :D

Sunlight streaks through the windows. Tommy’s breaths get faster. 

Not too fast; not fearfully fast. Fast enough, though, that Phil sits up, furrowing his eyebrows. 

Tubbo is asleep at Tommy’s side, Wilbur is asleep at the bed’s side, and Techno is asleep on the floor, so Phil tiptoes to the bed to check. Just in case.

He squeezes behind Wilbur’s chair and stands at the head of the bed. He rests a hand on Tommy’s sweat-soaked forehead. He pushes wet hair from his eyes.

“It’s nothing unusual for you to scare me,” he murmurs, “but let me off easy tonight, yeah? Heart attacks don’t mesh well with this kind of quiet. I mean— _all_ of you asleep at once? It’s a miracle.”

He is sinking into a crouch, resigned to spend the entire morning anxious, when he hears a garbled, “What?”

He whips his gaze back to Tommy’s face, stiffening.

Tommy’s eyes are blinking open. He is squinting in confusion and new light. His forehead is scrunched. His face is pale.

He is _awake_.

“Tommy?” Phil breathes.

Tommy looks at him strangely. After a long moment of blinking and squinting and scrunching, realization dawns. His eyes widen. _“Phil?”_

He stares at his son. There is water on his cheeks.

The tundra is hot, but that isn’t why.

Tommy is _awake_.

///

Minutes later, their low conversation is incessant enough to rouse the others. Techno has always been a light, wary sleeper, so Phil isn’t surprised when he jolts upright on the ground.

Tommy is, though. He freezes, blanches—the sudden movement incapacitates him. 

“Phil?” Techno asks, pushing hair from his face, not bothering to keep his tone down. He rises to his feet. “What’s going—”

He stares. His mouth opens, shuts, opens again.

Tommy watches him with wide, terrified eyes. 

“Tommy?” Phil asks, and puts a gentle hand on Tommy’s shoulder. Tommy immediately jerks it off, scrambling away from him like a small, skittish animal. In his effort, he rolls into Tubbo, who blinks awake with bleary, sleep-laden eyes. 

Tommy’s gaze falls to Tubbo. He hadn’t noticed him yet, so he gapes. His chest stutters, heaves. His hands shake. He blinks like he doesn’t quite believe what he’s seeing, like what’s in front of him cannot be possible. 

Phil doesn’t know what to say. Surely he can’t ask if he’s all right, or, Ender forbid, if he wants them to _leave_ , because he cannot fathom what he would do if he was forced to acknowledge the answer as no to the former and yes to the latter.

Tubbo, having wiped the last of the sleep from his eyes, drops his hands to his lap. Yawning, he lifts his gaze.

He freezes. 

“ _Tommy?”_ he whispers. 

Tommy stares at him. 

“You’re awake!” Tubbo shouts, and launches himself forward in what’s meant to be a hug. 

“Tubbo—” Phil starts, reaching a hand out to stop him. 

His hand only makes it worse, though, because as Tommy ducks away from Tubbo, he’s barred in by Phil. He makes a heartbreakingly pathetic noise—something close to a _whimper_ —rolls off the side of the bed, and limps as fast as he possibly can to the farthest corner of the room.

He is as pale as the snow outside. He looks a trillion times more terrified than Phil has ever seen him. 

Techno is glaring daggers at Tubbo. Tubbo looks horrified—guilty and concerned in equal measure.

No one moves. Even Wilbur, who must have woken up in the momentary chaos, has turned to join the staring contest.

After a few long seconds—where the only sound is Tommy’s heavy breathing—Tommy squeezes his eyes shut. Under his breath, he mutters, almost like a chant, “They aren’t real. They aren’t real. It’s not—it’s not real. It’s always like this. Don’t be stupid. They didn’t come for you. They aren’t here. They aren’t—”

Grief and unspeakable fear keeps Phil rooted to his spot. Tubbo doesn’t dare move. 

But Wilbur stands up slowly—eyebrows pinched, eyes heartbroken. Techno shoots him a glare, though, and he stills. Techno takes a step forward and says more gently than Phil’s ever heard him, “Tommy.”

Tommy shakes his head. His hands raise—pushing against his skull, tugging his hair. Blonde strands flutter to the floor. “No, no, no,” he murmurs. “Not again. Not again. It’s fake, Tommy. It’s fake. It isn’t real. They aren’t here. He’s coming back, he’s coming—it isn’t—”

“Tommy,” Techno whispers, voice so close to breaking that Phil almost turns away. He can’t—he can’t watch this. “Tommy. Look at me, yeah?”

Tommy covers his face with his hands. “Go away, Technoblade. I don’t—Dream is coming. He’ll be back. He’ll hurt us. He’ll save us.”

Techno tenses. Something sparks in his eyes at Dream’s mention—something violent, something hateful—but his voice does not reflect it as he takes another step forward. “Just look at me, Tommy. You’re all right, okay? You’re safe here. I promise.”

Tommy shakes his head. “I need to—where’s Dream? I need to find him. I’m—this is just a nightmare.”

Techno winces. His confidence falters. He does not go to move again.

From behind him, Phil gathers himself and takes a step forward. He moves slowly until he is just behind Techno. He puts a hand on his shoulder and gently pulls Techno back. 

“Tommy,” Phil says. “It’s me. It’s Phil.”

Tommy shakes his head. His mutterings are incoherent. 

Phil takes another step. He is only an arm’s length away. 

He takes a deep breath. “Tommy,” he whispers. He holds his hand out in front of him. “Tommy. You’re all right, now.”

“No, no, no, no, no—”

“I’m right here, Tommy. I promise.”

The battle is obvious on Tommy’s face—his desire versus his belief, his will versus his fears—but his resolve falters, and he blinks his eyes open. “Phil?” he murmurs.

“Yeah, Tommy,” Phil says, taking one more careful step forward. “I’m right here. You’re safe now, all right?”

Tommy wraps his arms around himself, staring at Phil like a miracle, like a daydream. “I’ve seen this before,” he whispers. “I don’t trust it anymore.”

“I’m real, Tommy,” Phil says. “I promise.” He holds out his hand. “Here. You can—you can feel it.”

Tommy eyes it like a diamond, like an emerald, like he wants to touch it more than anything in the world, but instead of reaching out his hand, he closes his eyes. “I’m sorry, Phil,” he whispers, and sinks down the wall. He grabs his head in his hands. “I’m so confused.”

Phil glances at Techno and Wilbur hopelessly. They can’t touch him. They can’t talk to him. They can’t—they can’t do _anything_.

Wilbur takes an apple from the table, walks up beside Phil, and lowers himself to sit before Tommy. Tommy peers up at him through his fingers. “Wil?”

“Here, Tommy,” Wilbur says, and hands him the apple. “Proof, yeah? You can’t taste things in your dre—while you’re asleep.”

Phil sees the word physically die on Wilbur’s tongue— _dream_. It is taboo.

Wilbur sets the apple down right in between them. When his hands have been retracted, Tommy takes it carefully. 

He stares at it for a long moment before taking a bite. As he chews, he looks up—eyes widening, face paling. 

“You’re real,” he says. “You found me.”

“Of course we did,” Wilbur murmurs. “I’m just sorry it took so long.”

Tommy looks behind him to Phil, to Techno, to Tubbo. “You’re all real, too?”

There’s a quiet chorus of assent.

“Oh, Ender,” he whispers, leaning back slightly, eyes darting between the four of them and nowhere else. “This isn’t Logstedshire. Where am I?”

///

Hours later, Tommy falls asleep with a half-eaten bowl of soup balanced on his lap. 

Techno stares from the foot of the bed. Wil stares, too, from the far side of the room, but Tubbo’s crying in his arms, so he has to stare over Tubbo’s head. Phil stares from the bedside chair. 

The room is silent in abject horror. A bowstring could drop and make them jump. 

They stare and they stare, and Tubbo cries, and they need to think of solutions, of plans, but none of them want to think of anything at all. None of them want anything except for things to be like they were before, like they could still be, if they had all been more wary, more mindful. 

At length, Tubbo’s crying turns to sobbing, and Wilbur guides him out the front door. When Phil listens, he can still make out Tubbo’s words— _I’m sorry, I’m sorry, This is my fault, I’m sorry_ —and Wilbur’s quiet condolences— _Shh, Tubbo. It’s all right. He’s going to be all right. We’ll make it all right._

“It’s worse,” Techno mutters, minutes or hours or years later. “So much worse than I thought.”

“We’ve just got to take it slow,” Phil says, infusing a confidence into his voice that he doesn’t feel. “It’ll get—it can only get better.”

Techno moves to stand beside him and leans into his side. Phil wraps an arm around his shoulder. 

They stand until the sun rises.

///

Days later, after seeing Dream’s lasting impact on Tommy—the way he flinches at the sight or mention of armor, the way he does not touch the food on his plate, the way he pulls his sleeves over his wrists to hide the “artwork” on his skin, the way he does not laugh or grin or insult or shout—Technoblade pulls Phil out the front door by his sleeve.

He turns to Phil, eyes blazing, hands shaking. “ _Enough_ ,” he snarls. “We move tonight.”

He stalks to the storage room to ready his armor. Phil is impressed he lasted this long. 

Over dinner, Techno arranges the seats so that he’s at Tommy’s side. It’s how he’s been sleeping, too. It’s his way of showing love—physical protection. It’s what he excels at. If you are protected by Techno, you are loved by him. There is no other interpretation.

His comments are snide and snarky throughout the meal, as they always are—he likes his normality, Technoblade does—but an edge is taken off. He looks at Tommy with soft eyes. He serves food onto Tommy’s plate when he sees it’s empty. He fills Tommy’s glass. He picks up the fork that Tommy drops without comment.

Phil watches it all. He sees the careful distance in Tommy’s eyes—the wary hesitation—and he wants to break down. But then he sees the way Tommy smiles at Tubbo’s voice, at Techno’s sarcasm, at Wilbur’s stories, and it is all okay. He must keep perspective. This is how progress will be made. They were none of them there when he needed them most, but they are here now, and that will have to be enough.

That _will_ be enough. He will _make_ it be enough. 

When the kids have fallen asleep on the ground—Tommy hasn’t slept except at Tubbo’s side since the second time he’d woken up—Techno stands and leaves the house without a word. Phil sighs, sets the plate he’d been drying down, and turns to follow.

His hand is on the doorknob when Wilbur whispers, “No goodbye?”

He bows his head. He turns with pursed lips. “Sorry,” he says. “Didn’t want to worry you.”

“I imagine I’d be more worried if I woke up to find you gone,” Wilbur says. 

Phil scratches his cheek. “I should’ve told you,” he says.

Wilbur sighs. He shrugs. “It’s all right. I know now. Would’ve guessed anyway, probably.”

“Right,” Phil says, nodding. “Take care of the kids, yeah? Tell ‘em we’ve gone to get food or something.”

Wilbur lifts a corner of his mouth in a half-smile. “Will do.”

They watch each other for a long moment, just as they’d done before. 

Phil hugs him. 

“Give him hell, yeah?” Wilbur whispers. “And sign my name at the bottom.”

Phil pulls him closer. “We will,” he says.

It’s a promise.

///

Weeks later, Techno recruits them all to help him sort through his enchantment books. 

Wilbur raises an eyebrow in mild surprise—“Figured you wouldn’t want us anywhere near your stuff.”

“I don’t,” Techno says, scowling. “But it’d take me months to do alone.”

“Months?” Tubbo echoes, incredulous. “Why do you like books so much?”

“They’re for enchanting,” Techno says flatly. “They aren’t actually books. Haven’t you ever enchanted anything?”

“No,” Tubbo says. 

Techno stares at him. 

“Anyway,” Phil says loudly. “I’d love to help you, Techno. Tommy?”

Tommy shrugs. “Sure.”

And so they begin. The process is grueling and monotonous—picking a book up, reading the inside cover, throwing it (if Techno isn’t looking; placing it gently down if he is) in the corresponding pile. 

Conversation doesn’t flow freely, but it isn’t stilted, either. It’s cautious, as it’s become of late.

After a few hours of work, though—when they’ve only made seven piles of progress—Tommy groans. “ _Please_ pay us, Techno. This is free labor. I should’ve signed a contract.”

Everyone stills to stare at him. 

“What?” he mutters, shrugging a little uncomfortably. A flush rises on his cheeks. “It’s true.”

Wilbur laughs sharply. 

It breaks the spell—Phil and Tubbo laugh, too. Techno blinks his shock away, rolls his eyes, and says, “You’re just jealous you didn’t think of it first.”

Tommy snorts. “You didn’t think of it first, either.”

“You’re right. The first people to make people work without—”

“I don’t want a history lesson!” Tommy shouts, forcing a smile down. He chucks a book at Techno, who catches it easily and deposits it in the right pile.

“I think you helped him,” Tubbo says. 

“Shut up, Tubbo,” Tommy says, glaring.

There is something in his eyes, though, that hasn’t been there in a long, long time. Something like mirth, something like laughter. 

Phil smiles. 

Later, when Tubbo and Tommy have fallen asleep, Wilbur whispers, “He told a _joke._ ”

“It wasn’t funny,” Techno says dryly.

Wilbur glares at him. “That’s not the point.”

“You laughed like it was hilarious,” Techno says.

“That _is_ the point. I did that because he hadn’t…I mean, that’s the first time he’s laughed! He told a _joke,_ Techno. Don’t you understand?”

“Progress,” Phil says.

“ _Exactly_ ,” Wilbur says, turning to him. “Progress.”

Techno stands and walks into his room. Wilbur frowns after him, confused. He glances at Phil in question— _What did I say wrong?_ —but Techno returns before Phil can reply.

“I’ll show you progress,” Techno says quietly. He takes flint and steel from the mantel and lights the fireplace. 

He pulls a ragged, blood-stained, leather-bound journal from his pocket.

He does not throw it in the fire all at once. He tears pages out, one by one, crumple them up, and throw them in. It’s cathartic, Phil thinks, watching the ink crisping slowly away. It’s hopeful, Phil thinks, imagining the scars and memories one day crisping away, too. 

Dream is long gone. The journal has been burnt. 

Tommy told a _joke_ today. 

They’ll be all right.

///

Months later, Phil is struggling to tug a carrot from the ground when Tommy pauses in his chewing. “Hey, Phil?” he says.

Phil drops his carrot, scowls at the ground, brushes his hands off, and leans back to look at him. “What’s up?”

Tommy drops his gaze, biting his lip. “I was wondering if—wait. Where’s everybody else?”

Phil mirrors Tommy’s position, sitting criss-cross in the dirt. “Tubbo’s making Techno a cake, but it’s supposed to be a surprise, so don’t tell him I said anything. Wilbur is practicing in his room. I think he’s planning a birthday serenade.”

“Oh, Techno’ll love that,” Tommy says, smirking.

Phil snorts. “He’s going to smash the guitar. Anyway, I think he’s feeding Carl right now.”

“Okay, good,” Tommy says, nodding. “I have a question.”

“Go on, then.”

Tommy meets his eyes, shoulders squared in determination. “I know—I mean, I don’t know where Dream’s gone. So I don’t know if this is allowed. But—and you can say no, obviously—”

“I’m probably going to say yes,” Phil says, smiling. “If you ever get onto asking the question.”

Tommy flushes, laughing lightly. “Okay,” he says. “I just—can we go back to L’Manberg?”

Phil blinks. 

“We don’t have to, obviously,” Tommy rushes to say, gesturing wildly with his hands. “I was just thinking, I really miss seeing all of…well, everyone, and it’s been awhile and I don’t know what the rules are now, so I get if we can’t—”

Phil puts a hand on his shoulder. It’s the closest he’ll come to hugging him—he’s still hesitant—but it usually delivers the message just as well. 

Pride glimmers in his chest. Tommy wants to go back home.

_This_ , he thinks. _This must be progress_.

“ _Yes_ ,” he says, smiling brighter than he has for days. “Of course, Tommy. Tubbo and Wilbur will be so excited.”

Tommy looks up at him with bright, hopeful, trusting eyes. “What about—what about you and Techno? Will you stay here?”

“No one could keep Techno away from you if they tried,” Phil says, chuckling. “No, Tommy. We’ll come. Of course we’ll come.”

Tommy hugs him.

Phil blinks.

It isn’t stiff and awkward like he’d imagine it’d be. It isn’t painful or uncomfortable.

It’s _perfect_. 

Phil can’t help it—he wraps his arms so tight that he’s scared Tommy will pull away. All Tommy does, though, is hide his face in Phil’s shoulder and link his hands behind Phil’s back. 

Tommy doesn’t pull away. Phil never wants to let go.

“Thank you, Phil,” Tommy whispers. 

“We love you, Tommy,” Phil says.

It’s a promise.

That their past is not their future’s canvas. There is more of _this_ before them—happiness and hugs and love and pride and progress. 

_But this_ , he thinks, as he holds his son in his arms. _This isn’t progress_. 

_This is perfection._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY ENDINGS!!!!! :D
> 
> Writing this story was super fun (and cathartic and indulgent), so I really hope you liked it. If you have a moment, it'd mean the world if you could let me know what you thought! Thank you infinitely for reading! <33

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Little soldier boy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28520265) by [isa_belle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/isa_belle/pseuds/isa_belle)




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